skin, bone, and arrogance
Nar Shaddaa - the Vertical City
"I know the Marketta-class isn't designed to carry weapons," the Omwati explained for what must have been the fifth time to the Twi'lek arms dealer. "What I'm telling you is that I've developed a software algorithm that will allow me to integrate a weapons system into my existing configuration. I just need to add after-market weapons to the chassis, and I need to know the right model to attach and then a targeting computer that will integrate easily."The Twi'lek wittered on endlessly about how one shouldn't add weapons to a shuttle of that class, but Beka was confident enough in her upgrades to her ship to know that it would survive the attempt. She wasn't a fighter by any means, but she wanted to see what she could do, and learn new marketable skills.
After another twenty minutes of arguing, the Twi'lek finally threw his hands up and gave her the Twi'lek equivlant of your funeral and agreed to deliver the parts to her ship the following day. Beka bowed her thanks and decided to treat herself to a drink. She asked for directions to reputable watering hole and followed the directions to the club he recommended as "safe for outworlders" and when she attempted to enter, the Weequay at the door stopped her. He looked her up and down and asked, "Name?"
"Sorry?" she asked.
"What's your NAME?" he demanded.
"Beka. Beka Barineker," Beka replied, glancing into the opening door to see a swanky bar inside. She was mildly impressed. "Why do you ask?"
"You're not on the list. But you are a lady... right?" he glanced down her form again and suddenly Beka was regretting wearing a rather immodest cropped tank top over a pair of dark cargo pants, under a flight jacket. "Eh. Nah. Take it to the queue."
"Queue...?" Beka echoed; she hadn't noticed the line of people waiting to get into the club. "I just want to get a drink."
"Queue."
Beka wrinkled her nose, then turned towards the queue and promptly ran directly into another person. At least, she assumed there was a person under the perfume, makeup, and glitter. "Beg pardon," she muttered, putting her arms out to brace the person on the shoulders. "My mistake."
[member="Vivian Octavia"]